The ErrorProof Test
by Juxtaposie
Summary: Pietro is in a jamb. The Error-Proof Test: Never has one wished more that it was false advertising.
1. Prologue

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The Error-Proof Test: 

Never has someone wished so hard that it was false advertising

*****

"Damnit Pietro! Gimme back the remote!" Todd yelled, making another mad dash after the silver-haired speedster. He cursed again as he barked his shin on a leg of the over-turned coffee table. Pietro just laughed. Standing atop the arm of the sofa, he threw the remote to the other side of the room and caught it him self. He repeated the action numerous times, laughing again as Todd veered precariously to the right, narrowly missing the floor lamp.

"Come on, Tolensky! You gotta be quicker than that!" Pietro taunted, now standing on the ottoman.

Lance sat quietly in an armchair off in the corner: the only piece of furniture that had not been upset. He was paging through the latest addition of Auto Weekly, and doing his best to ignore his bickering companions. He winced as he heard a loud crash -_There goes another lamp_- but still refused to acknowledge the mayhem about him. Bad things happened to people who got involved with Pietro when he was bored. Lance had only been on the receiving end of said boredom twice. The second time he had nearly brought the house down, and Pietro had opted not to include him in his schemes after that.

The doorbell rang.

"GET THE DOOR!" Lance, Pietro and Todd all shouted to each other. Todd continued to chase Pietro, Pietro continued to run, and Lance continued to studiously ignore his surroundings.

The doorbell rang again, twice this time.

"Get the door, Lance!" Pietro and Todd both yelled, still chasing each other around the room.

Lance ignored them.

The doorbell rang again, and continued to ring once every half second after that, the person on the porch grown clearly impatient..

"One of you get the damn DOOR!" Wanda yelled from upstairs.

"Your wish is my command, snuggle-pumpkin!" Todd yelled -in vain, for her door was already closed again- and scrambled to the door.

Pietro beat him to it.

"Alright, alright!" Pietro shouted through the thin wood paneling, wrenching it open. "What the hell do you-"

A white plastic rectangle about the size of a finger almost pegged him in the forehead. He ducked, and it bounced off the doorframe, skittering across the porch to land at the feet of a young woman. She stood squarely in the doorway, as close as she could be without actually being in the house, and looked as if she had been through a hurricane. Black hair was falling out of its ponytail, her face framed by flyaway wisps and curls. Her eyes were swollen -she had obviously been crying- and her cheeks were red with anger.

"YOU!" she snarled, jabbing a finger into Pietro's chest. "You lying, cheating, dirty, rotten, no-good SCUM!!!"

"Hey Pietro, she knows your whole name!" Todd said cheekily, peering over Pietro's shoulder.

"Quiet, you!" Pietro snapped, smacking Todd over the back of the head. Turning back to the fuming young woman on his doorstep, he batted her finger away and said irritably "Do I know you?"

With a barely repressed scream of rage, she balled her fists and swung at Pietro, first with her left, then with her right, both of which he caught without even blinking an eye. He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Wrenching out of his grasp, she glared at Todd, who was laughing uproariously in the hall behind Pietro. Sobering immediately at the look of utter contempt she cast upon him, he cleared his throat uncertainly and hopped off to the kitchen, leaving Quicksilver to his almost certainly unpleasant face.

"So…" Pietro said, already growing bored with the whole scenario. "Should I remember you from somewhere?"

"New Yea's Eve," she finally grated out. Pietro winced at the harsh Brooklyn accent that grated at his ears.

"Which New Years Eve?" he asked, now buffing his nails on his shirt, inspecting them in a very nonchalant manner. He missed the color darkening in her cheeks.

"LAST New Year's Eve, you ass!" she yelled stamping her foot.

Pietro thought back. He had been thoroughly smashed that night -he could not even remember who's party he'd been at- but somewhere through the haze of liquor, party poppers, and a dance-floor of gyrating bodies, a face swam into view: a face that was much like the one now glaring at him. As he remembered it belonged to a girl named….

"Mary" he exclaimed, opening his arms to her and smiling as if greeting a long-lost friend.

"MARTY!" she screamed, throwing her purse at him.

Pietro chuckled nervously. "Mary, Marty, they're practically the same name." He waved as if clearing the air. "Anyway, what do you want?"

In answer, she picked up the piece of white plastic and shoved it in his face.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, looking at it skeptically.

"A POSITIVE pregnancy test, you moron!"

Pietro's mind went blank.

*****

So…what did y'all think? This was supposed to be funny, and not very tearful or serious, so I hope I conveyed that well. I have no idea where this came from, but since I adore Pietro, and always pictured his as being someone who would get along smashingly with small children, I thought "Ok, why not give him one of his own?" This will NOT be a romance fic (I hope). And really, we all know he gets around! Title and summary courtesy of my friend Lady Erised, who is quite brilliant, despite what she herself might think. She writes Snape-centric Harry Potter fanfics. Check 'em out! Haha! Anyway, review, review, REVIEW! It's much appreciated, I assure you!

Oh, and I don't own Evolution, so please don't sue me!


	2. I Know What I Was Feeling But What Was ...

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Chapter One: I Know What I Was Feeling (But What Was I Thinking)

Pietro's mind went blank.

"WELL?!" Marty demanded when he did not reply immediately.

He blinked at her several times, as if doing so might make her disappear. When it became clear that it obviously wasn't going to happen he looked down at his shoes and swallowed a few times. His air was no longer one of egotistical aloofness: he seemed to be going into a state of shock. Suddenly everything slowed down, until time itself seemed to be standing still. The cold seemed just a little bitterer; he could smell the snow, even melting as it was. The wind froze in the trees, and yet still it bit into him, digging its teeth into every one of his limbs. He almost stopped breathing.

This was not the response Marty had wanted. Hair flying, she turned and stamped to the stairs, where she sank down and began to sob again. 

Her sharp, almost painful cries knocked Pietro's brain back on track. He stood for a moment, not sure exactly what to do. "Look," he said uncertainly, trying to keep his voice calm. "I'm not sure what you want me to do about this-"

Marty whirled on him, eyes still streaming tears. 

Pietro winced. _Wrong thing to say!_ He mentally kicked himself, but plowed on nonetheless. "I'm not sure what you want me to do…. I'm not gonna _marry_ you or anythi-"

"Do I look like I wants to marry you?" Marty spat, scrubbing at her tearstained face and pulling her pea coat tighter around her as the wind sprang up again.

Something about that latter gesture bothered Pietro greatly.

"Are you cold?" he asked, surprising himself at the sincerity of his tone. _Oh God, I'm getting sappy already!_

Apparently he had surprised Marty too, for she was now looking at him as if he had sprouted another head. "Well, it IS below freezing out here," she said cynically, waving her gloved hands at him.

For the first time Pietro noticed that there was no other car in the driveway. "How'd you get here?" he asked.

"The bus," she answered. "And that's how I'm leaving." Standing, she retrieved her purse. She took a few seconds to scribble her number on a piece of scrap paper and hand it to him, before she made her way down the steps, and down the drive to the street. 

Looking back over her shoulder, she called above the wind, "Gimme a call when you get your thoughts together. You and I need to have a talk!" She pulled her collar up to stave off the wind and tucked her hands into her pockets. 

She was just about to reach the sidewalk when Pietro decided that he couldn't let her walk all the way to the bus stop in the cold. 

"Wait up a minute!" he called. 

She turned to look at him, clearly aggravated.

"Lemme get my coat and I'll give you a ride home!" Rushing inside, he grabbed his coat, scarf, gloves, and -very surreptitiously- Lance's keys. The jeep at least had a cover on it, and even if the heat didn't work very well, it still provided a shield from the wind. That had to be better than a drafty bus.

Marty was still making her way to the jeep when he returned -which really did make sense, considering it had taken him about 7 seconds to find everything.

Pietro did the very chivalrous task of opening the door for her. She stared at him as if he were insane, but let him anyway. Then he climbed in beside her, swore at the engine until it started, and immediately turned the heater up full blast. They pulled out of the driveway just in time to hear Lance screaming obscenities after them.

*****

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, until at last Pietro leaned forward and turned on the radio. Marty was still sniffling miserably in the seat beside him, so he made the small concession of letting her choose the radio station. She pulled off her cumbersome gloves and pressed the seek button until she found -much to Pietro's horror- a country/western station that was playing an old Dolly Parton song. She began to sing along softly while she pulled her glove back on, then tapped her fingers to the tune on the armrest: all of these things Pietro found to be very annoying. If her voice had been any louder or less pleasant, he knew he would have had the gas pedal to the floor, all the quicker to get her home and away from him.

The jarring bleep of a cell phone broke through the music. Turning off the radio, Marty pulled a small red phone out of her purse. She looked once at the name displayed and fought the urge to throw the phone out the window. Sighing heavily, she answered it.

"Yeah?" she said, staring at her purse as it sat in her lap.

The person on the other line seemed displeased with this answer: Pietro could clearly hear the shouting on the other end.

"Well what the hell do you want me to do?!" Marty yelled when the line had gone silent.

She glanced at Pietro and listened to the person shouting on the other end.

"Yeah… He's givin' me a ride home," she said, obviously annoyed with whoever was harassing her.

The man on the other line, for it now became apparent it was a man, exploded. Pietro could ALMOST make out what he was saying.

"No, Daddy… Daddy, calm down!" Marty pleaded angrily, gripping the armrest tightly. 

"Agh! Fine, whateveh!" she finished, slamming the phone shut and shoving it brutally back in her purse.

"So… That was your father?" Pietro asked gently, trying to soothe the seething young woman beside him. He suddenly had the sinking feeling that this wasn't going to end well.

Marty looked at him from the corner of her eye as she pulled a mirror out of her purse and began to reapply her lipgloss. "Yeah, that was him, alright," she said softly.

"You know, he didn't want me to tell you until he could come along wit' me," she continued, dropping the mirror into her purse and sighing again.

"Can't imagine what he was afraid of," Pietro said sarcastically, taking the exit off the highway and turning onto a small side street just off the overpass. 

*****

Five minutes later they pulled into the driveway of a small white house, complete with a tiny, well-kept yard, an iron fence, and a group of angry male relatives standing on the porch. Pietro fought back the urge to run, as far as possible, and as soon as possible.

Six men, all of varying ages -some almost as young as him, the oldest looking to be in his mid 60s- were gathered on the front porch. Every single one of them wore a scowl upon his face, standing arms akimbo, and staring directly at Pietro. What troubled Pietro the most was the fact that they looked like they belonged to the Mafia. Four of the six men were wearing suits. The other two - an old, balding man, and a bristling teenager- were clad in a bathrobe over pajamas, and a wifebeater and jeans respectively. The man standing foremost had fire burning in his eyes. Pietro could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears.

"That's my dad," Marty said, pointing unnecessarily to the man in front. "My Nonno -grandpa," she said, pointing to the man in the robe. "My uncle Gianni," -the man in the suit off to the left- "and my brothers Matthew and Christian," -the other man in a suit, and the man in jeans.

"I'll, uh…just let you…. walk yourself to the door…." Pietro said, swallowing nervously.

Marty raised an eyebrow at him in amusement, then shrugged. "Suit yourself," she said, grinning like a cheshire cat. "You can't avoid my family forever," she added, smiling in satisfaction at the look of utter hopelessness in his eyes. "Eventually you'll have to get out and say 'hello."

"Yeah, well that day ain't today," Pietro said quickly, trying to hurry her out of the car. He was slightly unsettled by the way her father was now striding down the steps and to the jeep. Marty smiled again and climbed out of the jeep.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Pietro slammed on the reverse, and pulled out of the drive, tires squealing.

As he got on the freeway, he switched in the radio. A raucous voice sang at him: "I know what I was feelin'!… But what was I thinkin'?"

Sneering at Fate and her cruel jokes, he switched the radio off.

End Chapter One

Well? How'd y'all like this little installment? Not much plot development in this chapter, but I swear to God it will get better! (I hope…) Anywho, thanks very much to everyone who reviewed! Y'all know who you are! Hope this chapter gets as good a review as the first one did!


	3. I Know the Sun is Still Shining

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Chapter Two: I Know the Sun is Still Shining…

Pietro sat nervously in his seat, rubbing his hands to warm them of the lingering chill from outside. The small diner was warm around him, the smell of fried food thick in the air. The waitress, a middle-aged lady with dyed red hair and thick ankles, came by to fill his coffee for the third time.

It was 1:04. That meant Marty was 4 minutes late. Any normal human being would have found this acceptable, but Pietro was as far from normal as one could be and four minutes was a long time to wait for someone whose heart beat twenty-five times a second.

He picked up his coffee and took a long gulp, nearly scalding his tongue. It was sleeting outside now. He shivered involuntarily, and wrapped his hands tighter around his mug.

He looked at his watch. It was 1:05. Where was she?

Finally fed up with wait, Pietro pulled some change out of his pocket to pay for the coffee and began to pull on his coat. He was dreading this meeting anyway…

Just then Marty pushed open the door, a blat of cold air following her in. She stood shaking of her umbrella and stamping the dirty slush off her boots. 

Making her way to the booth, she sat down across from him, smiling grimly. Taking his coffee, she gulped down the rest and began to peel herself out of her coat, two sweaters, a sweatshirt, gloves, scarf and hat.

"What the hell took you so long?" Pietro asked hotly, snatching back his now-empty mug.

Marty glanced at her watch. "It's 1:07!" she said incredulously, looking at him in disbelief. Gesturing to the winter attire beside her, she added, "It takes a long time to put on all this shit!"

"What are you wearing all that for, anyway?" he asked. "It's not THAT cold outside!"

"Well, seeing as I'm _pregnant_," she spat (taking satisfaction in the way Pietro winced at the word "pregnant"), "my mother seems to think getting sick wouldn't be the best course to take!"

Then she smiled at the waitress, who was staring at them both with a look that said, "Honey, I've heard it all before, so shut up and order."

Once the waitress had stomped away, the fat around her calves rippling sickeningly, silence stretched between them. Cheesy 50s music drifted around the diner, and much to Pietro's annoyance Marty began to sing along softly, just as she had done in the car. The fingers tapping along on the table were like Chinese water torture to his already-drifting mind. He was beginning to wonder why he'd gone to bed with her in the first place. _Because you were plastered off your ass_, his conscience stated blandly.

Reaching out suddenly, he pinned Marty's tapping fingers against the table. She looked up at him, obviously surprised.

"Could you not do that, maybe?" he asked tartly.

She looked down at his hand on hers and muttered, "Yea, sure."

It took him a few moments to remember to pull his hand away.

The silence stretched on again, but this time there was no tapping: only a gentle hum. Marty looked at him once or twice, perhaps wishing he would speak.

Finally, with a deep sigh, she said, "Okay, we need to talk about his."

"Agreed," Pietro answered, playing with his fork.

Running a suddenly-shaky hand through her hair, Marty said softly "I dunno what I'm going to do. How am I ever gonna go to college if I have to raise a baby?"

Feeling suddenly malicious, Pietro said, "You could always just get an abo-"

"Don't you dare even _suggest_ it!" Marty broke in, hissing vehemently. "Don't you dare!"

"Just trying to help," he said sarcastically.

"Christ Almighty!" Marty cursed, glaring at him. "Could you be serious about this for one fucking second?!" Putting her elbows on the table, she rested her forehead in her hands. For an instant Pietro thought she was going to cry again. Then she took a deep, collected breath, and looked up at him. 

"Alright, in any other circumstances I'd be more than happy to let you hate me," she said, putting a hand protectively over her still-flat abdomen, "but we need to start getting along for the sake of this baby. I'm not gonna ruin her life by not being there, and I refuse to let you do the same thing." When he made no move to argue, she continued, "Which means you see her at least twice a week, you pay child support, and you treat me and her like human beings!"

"How do you know it's a 'her'?" Pietro asked suddenly, still playing his silverware. "How do you know it's not a boy?"

"Gut feeling," Marty answered immediately. 

"Fine," he said, setting down the knife and fork and finally looking up at her. "Be involved, right, I getcha."

Frowning at this much too chalant answer, Marty opened her mouth to reiterate everything she had just said, but Pietro cut her off.

"Look, I know I'm the last guy on Earth any woman would ever want to have kids with," he said seriously, suddenly feeling very young. "I can't promise anything spectacular, but I… I know what it's like to not have your dad there, and no one deserves to go through that."

Marty relaxed visibly and almost smiled at him. He took a shaking breath and almost smiled back.

Then the waitress brought out their food.

They ate in a silence broken only by the soft clinking of forks, and Marty asking Pietro to "stop monopolizing the salt and pepper."

The waitress brought their bill, and stomped off again, not even bothering to gather the finished dishes.

Pietro waved off the money Marty was beginning to pull out of her purse. 

"Don't worry about it," he said, taking a few bills out of his pocket. "And no tip for you!" he added, shaking a finger across the diner at the back of their inadequate server. Marty laughed softly and began to pull on her winter wear, opting to leave off the hat, and one of the sweaters.

Pietro pulled the door open, and together they stepped out into the week afternoon light. It was bitter cold, but at least it had stopped sleeting. The concrete was slick and icy, but the wind had ceased it's howling. All in all, the day seemed to be growing more pleasant.

"Did you ride the bus here too?" Pietro asked, tugging his gloves on hurriedly against the chill air.

"No, my uncle dropped me off on his way to the office," she answered, struggling to pull on her own gloves while not dropping any of the other things she carried. "He wanted to come in and meet you, but he was running late. I'll have to ride it back though."

Pietro nodded and silently thanked whatever god was still looking out for him. He would have given her another ride, but he had walked himself.

"Do you need some help?" he asked when she had spent two minutes putting on one glove.

"No, no, I've got it," Marty answered absently. She had almost succeeded in her task when a wind sprang up, pulling her scarf out of her grasp. The red thing landed in a large puddle of half-frozen slush, instantly becoming soaked. She cursed softly and bent to pick up the now-dripping wool item. "Well, I won't be putting this back on…" she grumbled softly.

She turned back to Pietro, who took the soaked scarf from her and immediately looped his own over her head. For a moment she gazed down at the soft, light-grey wool, thoroughly befuddled by this sudden act of kindness. She looked up at Pietro, and was slightly amused to see that he looked uncertain about what he had just done. 

"Can't have you getting sick, can we?" he said, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"No, I suppose we can't," she answered, turning to walk down the short block to the bus stop. She focused on the bus coming down the road. Being close to Pietro was beginning to addle her wits, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment.

Barely three minutes later, Marty stepped onto the bus, but was pulled out as Pietro suddenly grabbed her hand.

"Come out to dinner with me on Friday," he said, looking her straight in the eye. It had not been a request. All hint of uncertainty was gone from him.

"Alright," Marty answered softly. She looked back at the annoyed bus driver, then turned to give Pietro a quick kiss on the cheek. 

"Maybe there _is_ a heart under all that rock," she commented gently, smiling at him.

Then she stepped onto the bus and was gone.

Pietro wondered how he would explain his new scarf, or the absence of his old one.

On his way home, he smiled at a bassinet he saw in a shop window, and the little, pastel-colored mobile hanging above it. He was already feeling much better about this whole parenthood thing. He was still scared, as scared as he'd ever been in his life, really, but suddenly it didn't seem like such an impossible task. 

With Marty's scarf tucked in his pocket, and a new outlook beating in his heart, he hummed all the way home.

****

End Chapter 2 

Another one over and done with! Keep 'em coming, folks! I love reviews!


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